


Wingtips

by Bhelryss



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: AU: Soulmarks, Chrom and Lissa are there, F/F, au: happy ending aka the game never happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 11:46:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12298605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bhelryss/pseuds/Bhelryss
Summary: Emmeryn is seven when she finds her first mark, a regal, silver bird with a sharp, hunter’s beak, flying over her elbow.“I hope they’re my romantic mark,” Emmeryn sighed, later that night to her ceiling. “But a best friend wouldn’t be too bad.” Her pillows didn’t answer, and in the morning she’d go back about her lessons, a princess training to be Exalt, but all the while she’d keep an eye on the falcon napping, flying, or preening gently along her skin. Watching her mark never once grew old, not for weeks and weeks.





	Wingtips

Emmeryn is seven when she finds her first mark, a regal, silver bird with a sharp, hunter’s beak, flying over her elbow. Delighted, she pokes and prods the skin, prompting the falcon to wing away up her arm and disappear beneath the cloth of her coat. Disappointed, but not giving up, Emmeryn shucked her outer layer to the sleeveless shirt underneath, and turned her head and neck this way and that to try and watch it as it flew over her shoulders and dipped down to just above her collar and then then swung up and then was lost to her range of vision.

It was with great pride, that Emmeryn tracked it down one more time, and showed it eagerly to her mother and father, assembled together at her behest, infant Chrom sleeping in the crib in the corner. “Look!” She declared, pointing it out to her father, specifically. Looked up to him hoping for approval and finding no sign of it. “See? Isn’t that great, Father?” 

“It’s lovely, Emmeryn,” her mother said, taking the hand the falcon was perched on and watching the bird of prey preen itself. “I’m glad you have found your mark so early!” Emmeryn’s mother hadn’t found her mark until she was fourteen, and had already met her soulmate. After it had appeared, the ill tempered lion had stalked up and down Cybilla’s arms until she’d touched the Exalt’s bare skin with her own, and then the marks had swapped. 

Her father now bore a napping lion on his skin, and her mother a golden heron. One day, she’d meet her own soulmate, and the marks would swap, and she’d fall in love and get married. Or, if her soulmate was her best friend, and not her future spouse, she’d hold on and never let go. Cybilla’s platonic mark was a static star, which had belonged to a knight who’d died long before Emmeryn had ever been born. Her father’s other mark was static also, a stationary shield. She’d never asked if it had been his platonic mark, but she’d always assumed, since her mother had always been open about which was which. 

“I hope they’re my romantic mark,” Emmeryn sighed, later that night to her ceiling. “But a best friend wouldn’t be too bad.” Her pillows didn’t answer, and in the morning she’d go back about her lessons, a princess training to be Exalt, but all the while she’d keep an eye on the falcon napping, flying, or preening gently along her skin. Watching her mark never once grew old, not for weeks and weeks. 

Not until she noticed her second mark, a dark dog chasing alongside a falcon in flight. The dog took her prodding with much more patience than the falcon, and would kindly sit on easily accessed skin and would do tricks to entertain her. She very much loved that dog, though her eyes would follow the falcon with more ease. She loved both marks already, and she dreamt of nothing but vague people her size but who she knew intimately as Falcon and Dog. 

Chrom was three when his first mark surfaced, a green-tinged crow that hopped curiously around Chrom’s collarbones and liked to nest in the crook of his right elbow. She liked to look at the plumage, and dream up dashing scenarios for her baby brother to meet his soulmate. However, though Chrom thought the bird beautiful, he was quick to forget it in favor of swinging toy swords with enthusiasm at knights’ legs.

Lissa was born, her mother died, and then her father, in such a swift cascade of events that Emmeryn was ten and orphaned and crowned within months. The eldest of three, and the head of a nation still at war, and sometimes she screamed for hours at the unfairness of it all, safe in the isolation of her rooms with a thick pillow pressed over her mouth to muffle the noises. No one ever commented much on her hoarseness of voice, and for that she was grateful.

She was more grateful for Dog, who would lay on the back of her hand, and wag their tail every time she looked that way. Falcon, according to her very enthusiastic brother, spent their time soaring on invisible thermals around her neck winging over and over again in circles. (Chrom’s second mark appeared late in the night, another bird, this one small and so full of feathers it seemed nearly circular to Emmeryn’s eye. She kissed his nose and tucked him back into bed, careful not to clue him into how tired she was.)

Frederick comes into their lives when she is thirteen. Emmeryn rests on her throne, breaths short, and watches him. (Her chest hurt, there’d been an attack three nights prior that had soundly bruised her ribs. It wouldn’t kill her, but it made her life more troublesome.) Newly knighted, older than her by a few years. He wears pressed shirts and other formalwear like carefully maintained armor. She puts him in charge of Chrom and a now terrible three year old Lissa. 

She catches him by the hand, entirely caught by surprise, while handing him a dozing Lissa to hold. Her heart jumps, and she takes stock of herself purely out of habit. No new injuries, no strange feelings that might indicate poison, but Dog is gone. Sitting in its place is a golden eagle, head cocked to observe Emmeryn with ferocity. She stares at Frederick, and he at her, a dog’s head poking up and over the collar of Frederick’s shirt.

The children put to bed, she tugs Frederick towards her room, fourteen and not wanting to cry all over him without the privacy of her own walls. After an hour of holding hands and calming Emmeryn down from her tears (she’d loved Dog so much, and the eagle that represented her was not the steady companion she’d loved for so long), Frederick leaves, promising an early breakfast and companionship until Chrom and Lissa wake. 

It’s a sort of security that goes a long way, but she still mourns Dog. She wakes in the morning to to Frederick’s polite knocks and his self-satisfied smile at a promise well-kept. She smears blueberries across his nose when he seems too stiff, and then blackberries across her own to make him laugh. When he does, she beams, and then Chrom jumps in her lap and Lissa after, and she can’t help but feel like things are just fine.

(She does the whole affair again the next few breakfasts, repeated until even the mention of blueberries makes Frederick’s nose twitch and a smile creep across his face. Before they part ways, Frederick and Chrom and Lissa for tutors and duties and Emmeryn for her meetings and advisors, Emmeryn makes a point to flick hair into place and straighten collars. It’s a morning ritual for her and her siblings, and now Frederick has earned the full force of her fond attention.)

She’s fifteen, and Frederick nineteen, and she stares at him. He’s sitting in a chair near her bed, while she’s lying down on it, ankles crossed and in the air. “Do you think it is strange we have never kissed?” She asks, heels of her hand pressed into her cheeks and elbows firmly pressed into the bed, supporting her head. (When Emmeryn was five, she’d dreamed that she’d always meet her romantic soulmate first.)

It’s not really a question she expects him to answer, both of them are happy with the way things are, and it’s just a curiosity that has her even bring up the option. Do they  _ want _ to be each other’s romantic marks? She wonders, though she thinks of the way Eagle perches next to Falcon, and flies at the other bird’s wingtips and gently preens the other bird, and hopes that Fred won’t be too disappointed when she meets her romantic mark.

“You’re fifteen,” Frederick answers, not looking up from his knitting, both of his feet kicked up onto the bed (knees resting on the edge of the bed and toes wiggling near her elbows, pleasantly enjoying their closeness but otherwise occupied with his craft), wearing homemade socks in Emmeryn’s favorite colors. “My lady, please don’t find offense, but I would never kiss a child.” She hums, and watches Frederick’s fingers and listens to the  _ clack clack _ of the needles against each other.

“I won’t always be fifteen.” She says, an empty protest. She’s a child, but she’s also queen, and her council knows Frederick holds one of her marks. Emmeryn has heard them talking, and she wonders if it wouldn’t be so bad, kissing Frederick. He’s her best friend, after all, and if she never meets Falcon…

Frederick flicks his gaze her way, staring at her from the corner of his eyes but never stops knitting, which tells her exactly what he thinks of that. 

She huffs, but all she does is reach out to teasingly pinch at his toes, hidden behind the silver and black wool socks. Her favorite colors, though she wears the yellow and white customary of the women of the exalted line (the green accents are an homage to Frederick’s secret favorite color). Chrom already dresses in the blues he will probably be forced into all his life, and Lissa’s dresses are all yellow and white, just like Emm’s. 

“What if I don’t meet Falcon?” Emmeryn whines, rolling onto her back and staring at the ceiling. “What if they don’t like me?” What if they only liked her because she’s Exalt? She’s fifteen, and she’s been queen for a third of her life. She can’t help but be afraid the people in her life, excluding Frederick and her siblings, only like her for the crown.

Frederick stops knitting and throws a spare yarn skein at Emmeryn’s face. She squawks, and splutters and pouts at his easy smile. (She recognizes that expression from Dog, and she remembers how much she loves Frederick all over again.) “Milady, please roll that into a ball, for me?” 

Hands deep in the yarn up to her second knuckles on each finger, Emmeryn looks up again when Frederick clears his throat. “Lady Emmeryn, if I may be so bold. Falcon will no doubt love you even more than I do, after all, they are your soulmate.” He pauses, and then quietly, “And even if Falcon does not appreciate you properly, I am still your soulmate. You will never need fear being alone, Lady Emmeryn.” 

Embarrassed, though she brought the topic upon herself, Emmeryn throws the unballed part of her skein back at Frederick’s face, though it falls short. Still, she settles almost immediately, still balling yarn, and feels more at ease. Frederick won’t ever leave her, after all. He’s devoted to her, and her siblings.

Emmeryn is eighteen when she meets Phila for the first time. Three more years of Frederick and Emmeryn, of Chrom and Lissa and their honorary older brother. They mind him less as they get older, though they know Emmeryn will fuss if they ignore him completely, and for now they love her enough to treat Frederick’s will like the words of Naga.

Phila is taking a shortcut through the castle, not late but wanting desperately to be early, to impress her commander. She’s twenty, and tall, so her long strides take her swiftly to where she wants to be. Except for this day, because she turns a corner too swiftly, and smacks straight into Frederick’s chest and bounces off. Phila doesn’t go sprawling, but it’s a near thing.

Lissa, from her perch atop Frederick’s shoulders, laughs. Giggles, really, and pulls at Frederick’s hair in her pure delight. “Again, Frederick, again!” She cheers, And Emm, still at Fred’s elbow, laughs, too. Lissa is eight, and Emmeryn loves to hear her laugh. (There’s a twinkling diamond on her wrist, Maribelle’s mark for Lissa, that has been there a year already. The two are thick as thieves and Emmeryn cannot help but be glad.)

It’s a family’s day out, Chrom pulling Frederick by the hand, Emm trailing slightly behind, a picnic in the immediate future of the Exalted family. Emmeryn reaches for Phila, to apologize for coming upon her so unexpectedly, but the pegasus knight bows first and then hurries onward. “Sorry, Your Grace!” She’s intent to make a good impression, her first day as a captain. Emmeryn grips Fred’s free hand, and lets Chrom pull them all onward. Lunch won’t wait, apparently, even for apologies. Which is fine, the knight didn’t seem too upset, so she lets Chrom tug at Frederick who pulls at her, and they exit into the bright sunshine.

The next time Emmeryn sees Phila, they are taking cover under the same overhang. The rain is pouring, drumming loudly off the roof and creating a distinct curtain of runoff separate from the water falling just past it. The droplets are large, and cold, and Emmeryn is soaked from her shoulders to her waist and from her toes up to her ankles. Shivering, she pulls her stupid, heavy, decorative cloak closer to her body (it’s wet though, so it’s hardly any warmer than the rest of her, more's the pity).

“Lovely weather today,” Emmeryn remarks casually, as though it’s possible to ignore the way water droplets cling to Phila’s hair like crystals and diamonds. That gets her an amused huff of breath, a side look from under damp lashes, a hint of a smile. Frederick is keeping her siblings occupied, she is supposed to be going about her duties, but the downpour has stranded her here. The company is quite beautiful though, if she’s allowed to think so.

“Yes, Lady Emmeryn.” Phila says, mouth still pulled slightly up. “I believe there has not been such a beautiful day in weeks.” A pause, as though she’s stifling her own urge to laugh, “Actually, my lady, I would instead claim it is the nicest day in months.”  

Pleased, Emmeryn beams around her hair, heavy with water and clinging to her face and neck. “Exactly so, Knight..?” 

“Phila, my lady.” 

“Exactly so, Phila.” Emmeryn says, reaching out with a pruned hand to dip her fingers into the curtain of run-off. Still cold, still pouring. She’d likely be very, very late to her meeting with her advisors. No skin off her nose, they were starting to make noises about her lack of romantic soulmate. Chrom hadn’t met either of his, but the marks were present, and Lissa still only had Maribelle’s mark on her skin. 

Of course they wanted the Exalt to marry and produce children. Of course. Still, the thought was sour, when all she wanted, all she’d dreamed of since Falcon had appeared on her skin, was marrying for love. Frederick  _ would _ be a good husband, even if she didn’t love him that way, but he still had a romantic mark to find, and she wouldn’t take that from him.

“Do you think it will continue like this for very long?” Emmeryn asked, after a comfortable silence. If she could blame the weather she absolutely would, but if it stopped or slowed...it would be slightly more difficult to avoid speaking of her love life with old men who’d known her father. (Perhaps it was selfish of her, but she really, really didn’t want people forty years her senior prying into whether or not she was really,  _ truly _ sure Frederick wasn’t her romantic mark.)

Without any hesitation, Phila leaned forward past the curtain and blinked up at the sky. When she pulled back, her bangs were flattened over her forehead, and the droplets in her light colored hair had disappeared in favor of a soaked, darkened silver color. Shocked a little, Emmeryn gave a nervous little laugh, as Phila pushed her bangs up into the rest of her hair and smiled at the exalt. (Water ran down her face, and Emmeryn looked anywhere but at the bead running down and over Phila’s chin and neck, tickling a horse mark into dipping back down below the collar.) “The clouds look like they are content where they are, Your Grace. It’s very likely that we will be stuck here for a few long moments, unless we’re particular inclined to swim.” 

That did make Emmeryn laugh, a brief singular breath. “I fear I have no inclination to swim to my meeting. They shall simply have to hold it without me.” Which suited her just fine. The puddles outside their little dry nook deepened, and every so often thunder would rumble distantly, and cloud lightning would dance across the sky. The rain truly did not seem like it was going anywhere, let alone disappearing anytime soon.

Dampness seems to creep down the rest of her clothes, and Emmeryn hesitantly inches closer to Phila. While the knight’s head is drenched, the rest of her is fairly dry, and Emm is  _ cold _ . It might be a bit sneaky, but she fully intends on plastering herself to Phila’s side, at the very least transferring some of the damp from herself to Phila. She gets almost up against Phila’s shoulder when the knight steps backwards, effectively evading her.

The muscles in Emmeryn’s face twitch, disappointment and the frustration of being evaded twisting her expression for a fraction of a second. Still, she won’t be foiled, and she slowly, and subtly chases Phila around the space beneath the overhang until it’s less a plot to be warmer and more and more and then entirely an attempt to get Phila just as soaked as Emmeryn is. In fact, by the time the rain finally lets up enough that Emm can’t justify loitering any longer, she’s outright snorting, laughing and breathless but trying to keep a bit of her decorum.

Phila is even drier than she was before sticking her head out into the rain, because of course she is. She’s smiling though, and laughing too, which makes Emmeryn feel better about it, at least. They’re both laughing, the rain is slowing, and she’s likely missed her meeting entirely. It’s been a good afternoon, and she can’t wait to shove her frozen hands up the back of Frederick’s shirt. 

She can’t wait to find herself in Phila’s company again.

It is with great reluctance that she pulls her decorum back into place and shuffles off to her meeting. The only reason she escapes a lecture on punctuality from men she technically outranks is her obvious dampness and the way she “begs” forgiveness for being caught in the rain. (And yes, Frederick squeals when her ice-cold hands plant themselves just below his shoulder blades. She laughs, and he tosses her bodily onto her bed in retaliation, and they spend a quiet evening where he knits while she tells Frederick in detail about how beautiful Phila had been in the rain.)

It is perhaps, three days later when Frederick taps the book in front of her to get her attention. “You’re distracted, Milady.” He chides, though he’s hardly one to talk, given he’s supposed to be playing with Lissa (who’s busied herself by drawing on Frederick’s boots with colored wax, which he will gripe about to Emmeryn in private later). “What is keeping you from your reading?”

With a heavy sigh, Emm puts aside the budget proposal Councilman Magellan wished for her insights on, and bends until her face is smushed against the pages. “I want Phila to be Falcon.” she admits. “She’s pretty, she’s funny, she’s a knight like you - Fred her eyes are so pretty and her smile makes my stomach flip.” Emmeryn bemoans, still thinking of that slip of smile she’d caught, when the lightning had turned Phila’s highlights white with intensity. The shape of her lips in shadow.

The way Phila’s shoulders shook with suppressed laughter, as they stepped so carefully around each other in their shelter from the rain. It was enough to make her heart beat faster, enough for her to be distracted, days later when the sun was shining and the puddles long gone. They’d not touched, nor did Emmeryn think there would ever be a good reason for them  _ to _ touch, and yet her mind was filled with such and similar thoughts. “I want her to be Falcon and I want to kiss her.” She sighs, reaching across the table for Frederick’s hand, a comfort in her time of emotional distress. 

Frederick is entirely grave as he squeezes her hand gently, entirely somber as he nods as she speaks. “Yes, Milady Emmeryn.” This is not the first time he’d held her hand while she mourned a pretty face. Still serious, he hummed, and leaned forward to ruffle her hair, which earned him an offended squawk. “You’re a very romantic person, my lady.” He said fondly.

“Prone to flights of romantic fancy,” she answered, pouting still. She’s had this lecture before, over a serving boy who’d had exceptionally long eyelashes and a bright smile. And a visiting noblewoman with a generous figure and a tendency towards meaningless flirting. She could go on in this way for a while, but she’s decidedly embarrassed about each not being Falcon, despite the way she’d hoped.

“Yes, Milady.” Frederick agreed. There were worse faults to have, Emmeryn supposed, but it did have the unintended side effect of kicking up a fuss from her advisors, who were growing ever more eager to see her settled down and starting a family. By donors or her chosen partner, so long as she married and bore children. It was...frustrating.

“You are to be reading, my lady.” Frederick reminded, squeezing her hand again. Groaning, she turned her eyes back to the words on the page, and tried not to think about how pleasurable it would be to touch Phila and find Falcon missing. Or perhaps just touching Phila, regardless of marks. She sighed again, and Frederick echoed her, but he never let go of her hand.

Knowing it was likely a passing fantasy did not make it any easier to deal with the side effects, Emmeryn thought uncharitably, ducking behind a decorative column framing one of the gardens. Her heart was pounding and her face was red, as though she’d been doing something entirely less than appropriate, but instead all she’d done was catch a glimpse of Phila. 

She was eighteen, an adult and a queen, and here she was, acting like a child with a crush. (She was, definitely, someone with a crush, but...but, she was not a  _ child _ .) Phila was gone from sight when she dared to duck around the column again, and she sighed with relief and regret, and fanned her face to cool the flame of her embarrassment. “Are you well, Your Grace?” 

Heart stopping for a moment, an eternity, Emmeryn turned to face Phila, who smiled prettily. “Your Grace?” She prompted, and Emmeryn felt all her blood rush back to her face, no doubt a flaming, glowing sign declaring her feelings. That drove Phila’s grin from her face, and she frowned and reached out to the Exalt, perhaps to lay a hand on her forehead. She halted herself just before the Brand, before tutting and then laying an arm around Emmeryn’s shoulders. Emmeryn felt like she might die, the warmth of Phila’s arm not penetrating her heavy cloak, but she could imagine it.

This was some sort of dream, she was sure.

Feeling completely out of her body, Emmeryn let Phila steer her away from the garden and through the halls. Phila was touching her, practically holding her, and Emmeryn’s face was red enough to put some of the roses outside to shame. They paused infrequently, Phila asking for Frederick’s whereabouts, and despite her heart thundering in her chest, Emmeryn took the opportunity to lean against Phila, and bask in the attention. “Your Grace?” Phila asked, when Emmeryn leaned a bit too much, and knocked the both of them slightly off balance.

“O-oh, sorry Phila.” Emmeryn replied, immediately pulling her weight off of the knight. She’d definitely overstepped. Frederick would laugh at her, for sure, but at least her embarrassment was running its course. She couldn’t be red-faced and nervous forever, and in fact her heart was calming. Her stomach felt fluttery though, but the tradeoff was welcome, if only so she was less afraid of fainting in Phila’s arms. (Though, wouldn’t that be dashing, waking up to Phila’s concerned face?) “Please forgive me.”

“It isn’t anything worth forgiving, Your Grace, if it helps you, please lean on me. I will support you.” And there went Emmeryn’s heart entirely, though she did lean on Phila again. And enjoyed it, the press of their sides together, the grip of Phila’s fingers at Emmeryn’s hip, and the roughness of their combined gaits. Walking was hardly an easy rhythm, but it was comfortable and when they stumbled Phila would snicker and Emm would giggle. Never once did their skin come into contact though, Phila was always so careful to be very appropriate with her touches. 

Which, perhaps Emmeryn wished Phila would take a slight advantage, and be a tad less proper. 

Either way, by the time Phila had tracked down Frederick, Emmeryn had both her heart rate and her balance back under control, but was shamelessly pressed up against Phila.  _ Some _ care had been taken on Emmeryn’s part to keep from brushing skin against skin, since Phila was trying so hard to be a courteous knight, but her own grip on Phila has gone from side to hip with great satisfaction to be had. 

“Milady,” Frederick said first, before nodding to Phila, “Lady Phila.”

“Sir Frederick,” Phila returned with a nod, hand sliding back up from over Emmeryn’s hip to solidly above her waist, as though Frederick’s eyes had made the contact less than entirely wholesome.  _ If only _ , Emmeryn thought, as she was transferred from Phila’s grip to Frederick’s arms. “I believe Her Grace has fallen ill, though she’s recovered slightly while we searched for you.”

“Thank you, Lady Phila.” Frederick said, a muscle in his jaw twitching that was very, incredibly visible from Emmeryn’s viewpoint. It meant he was struggling not to laugh, which she found quite unfair. If he weren’t holding her like some fairytale damsel, Emmeryn might have tried subtling kicking him for his amusement at her expense. “I shall take her to her rooms, and see she rests for the remainder of the day.”

“Thank you, Sir Frederick,” Phila acknowledged, smile breaking her face into something warm and relieved. Something even more beautiful. “If the Exalt wouldn’t mind, I should like to check on her in the morning?” She asked, addressing Frederick but face turned to where Emmeryn was busy studying the light on the knight’s cheekbones. 

“Oh, I believe the Exalt would like that very much,” Frederick managed, a tick in his voice meaning hidden laughter. Emmeryn looked up, startled, and smiled dizzily at Phila before Frederick turned away. After they turned a corner and put distance between themselves and Phila, Frederick let Emmeryn’s feet hit the ground. “Do I want to ask, Milady Emmeryn?” 

And if that wasn’t amusement strangled to seriousness coloring his voice, she’d sulk right here in this hallway. 

“Likely not,” Emmeryn said primly, picking up her skirts and stepping quickly towards her rooms. Frederick followed behind her, easy steps keeping him there, while Emmeryn stalked towards her bedroom and safety. Frederick’s silence was easy, companionable, like it had always been, but Emmeryn’s was sharp and punctuated by the slaps of her heels on the flagstones. 

“If you are feeling unwell, perhaps you should retire?” Frederick prompted dryly, watching Emmeryn fuss about her room, papers falling to the floor in her wake and listening to her hissing at things that didn’t move quickly enough. She hissed at him, clearly unhappy with his interference, flapped a hand to shoo him away, and in reply Frederick made a show of being unarmed.

“I need,” Emmeryn explained, as she dug through a drawer, “something for Phila, for in the morning.” A present. A gift, a declaration of her infatuation. Something tangible she could give with her hands. (And then they’d brush fingertips, and Phila would blink at her, and then maybe she’d kiss Emmeryn’s cheek in gratitude, and - and - Frederick was still here, staring at her.)

She stared at him, head turned uncomfortably to look over her shoulder, “Are you going to stare or are you going to help?” She asked, sharply. Flinging a scarf over her shoulder, Emmeryn pulled out something and stared at it hard before tossing it also, another scarf. “Frederick,” Emmeryn whined, as he pulled her back. 

“I need something to give her, a  _ token _ .” Like the romance novels she hid behind Ylissean tax law book bindings, the princess would give her fair knight a token, and they’d hold it tight and treasure it and after an adventure they would kiss, their marks would exchange, and then they’d marry. Like a fairytale! An ideal!! The dream she’d held in her heart since she was a little girl!!! Emmeryn needed a  _ token _ .

“Frederick,” Emmeryn whined, dragging fistfulls of scarves and ribbons and socks with her when Frederick pulled her back further. Still she stayed when he pushed her to a seat and started sorting methodically through what she’d thrown to the floor. Socks were quietly paired back up and stacked in a pyramid, scarves folded and set aside. Ribbons, an errant shirt, and to Emmeryn’s eternal reddening embarrassment, a pair of underthings pulled from the carnage of handkerchiefs and brooches and decorative hat pins of varying materials. 

In the end, Frederick had cast aside all the most expensive things, and gestured to a layout of all the ribbons Emmeryn had held, several hat pins, and two handkerchiefs that were fairly pretty. It was, actually, mostly ribbons and decorative hat pins that had proven to function just fine as simple hair accessories. She cast her soulmate a curious look, running her fingers over a silk ribbon, and Frederick merely focused his eyes past her. “My lady has a tendency to  _ preen _ .” And then he stared very pointedly at her bare forearm, where Eagle was busy gently running her beak through Falcon’s feathers. 

“I don’t,” Emmeryn protested weakly, though she knew the observation was true enough. Didn’t she fuss over Chrom and Lissa every morning? Fix their hair and straighten their collars. Pointedly tugged Lissa’s apron straight and then sent her darling siblings off to study and play? Didn’t she make a point of prodding Frederick’s shirts and tie, though she knew he’d done them perfectly well? And when she’d been younger, once she’d made Frederick sit and suffer as she ran a brush and her fingers over his hair and tried to recreate his traditional style.

The sun rose in the east, set in the west, and Emmeryn preened. Facts of life.

Moving to snatch up the ribbons, she huffed, turned on her heel, and sat back on the bed, running each one through her fingers. Soft, weighty, each a different color. She’d used some on her own hair, some had been her mother’s, and some she’d used on Lissa. Each was special though. In example, this one had been quietly tied around her wrist when she’d been coronated, for the first time no longer allowed ribbons in her hair.

It was faded a bit, with age and wear, but it was still a soft silver. Like Phila’s hair, or the sky in winter. When she was little she’d cherished it for the silver color, so like Falcon’s wings, but now that she was older she’d treasured it what it was. A present from her mother, for her mark presenting itself. To bring a bit of celebration to what had been such an exciting moment. 

And now it would bring a bit of heart to what might be a simple check in. Maybe Phila just thought she was doing her duty, but Emmeryn’s heart pounded each time she was near her. And well, if Phila wore the ribbon, perhaps that would be a sign that her infatuation wasn’t hopeless. “This one,” Emmeryn declared, throwing the remaining ribbons in the air like satin and silk confetti. One caught over her the top of her head and tickled at her ear, another rested on her shoulder, but the majority fell to the bed or floor with little fanfare. 

Ribbons might not be something an Exalt was permitted to wear, but they were fun, and beautiful. Perhaps Phila would agree. “Do you think she will like it, Frederick?” Emmeryn asked shyly, already trying to imagine a likely reaction. In a best case scenario, though incredibly unlikely, she would receive a kiss of gratitude on the cheek. Perhaps two, or, incredibly, a single kiss on the lips - no, no. That would be completely unlikely. Still, a girl could dream, couldn’t she?

“I believe so, my lady.” Frederick said soberly, utter seriousness making Emmeryn laugh despite herself. If nothing else, Frederick was always there for her and her family, so it was of little matter if Phila disdained her token. Because she still had Dog, and he still had Eagle. Throwing herself backward on her bed, Emmeryn sighed heavily, ribbon warming between her fingers. 

“I hope so, Frederick.” She mumbled, turning onto her side. Staring at him in the middle of her room, Emmeryn found her gaze drifting to the piles of things on the floor. If Phila were coming to see her in the morning...Pushing herself back into an upright sitting position, Emmeryn jumped off the bed. “I have to clean right now, or else Phila will think me a slob, Frederick!” Embarrassed horror colored her voice, and she pushed her knight towards the door. “Go, shoo!! I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“As you wish, Milady Emmeryn,” Frederick said brightly, “As ever, I heed your very wishes! I shall see you when the sun shines again.” And off he went, and Emmeryn closed the door behind him, leaned against it, and sighed again. The ribbon was still warm in her hands, and the wood of the door was cool against the back of her fingers. Pins and ribbons and scarves and such things littered the floor in neat piles, and her dresser drawers hung at wrong angles from their tracks.

She had quite the mess on her hands to straighten, but better this than suffer a harsh judgement from Phila. Blinking slowly, Emmeryn sighed once more, and then pushed off from the door. It took her the better part of several hours to right things, but when she fell into bed, clean and ribbon safely folded atop the small table by her bed, she felt confident. Phila would love the token, and it would mean great things for their relationship. One step closer to becoming Falcon and Emm, surely.

Morning dawned too early, the hint of dawn softening the sky in view of her windows. Her eyes itched, a consequence of having stayed up too late first cleaning up the mess she’d made, then simply too wide-eyed and full of thoughts of what-ifs to catch more than a few fitful minutes at a time. Frederick slipped in the door as he usually did, tea in hand for Emmeryn as he made his way through the earliest of his self-appointed morning duties. 

Grateful, she buried her nose in the steam and sighed, though it was more of a yawn than a sigh. With a self-pleased smile, Frederick herded her through her morning routine, valiantly ignoring the exhausted slant of her half-lidded eyes and the mess of her pillow-arranged hair. For her part, she still managed to catch the button Frederick left intentionally undone, so she might feel a part of his morning routine as well. Part of the dance they did as Dog and Eagle. 

Then, a knock at the door, just as the clouds along the horizon grew brightly orange. Frozen, Emm turned to Frederick as the nerves of the night before returned. Like a rock, he stood there unmoving, merely regarding her evenly from his position. Heart pounding, Emmeryn reached for her silver ribbon, and gripped it tight. (She fumbled it, briefly, the materialy sliding smoothly between her fingers as the knock came once more.)

Standing just before the doors, Emmeryn inhaled sharply, straightened her posture, and then tugged it open with an easy smile on her face. Thanks to Frederick, not a hair was out of place and she felt more awake and more like a person. Phila, for her part, looked just as carefully put together. The minimal armor of the pegasus corps properly fitted and shining in the light breaking across the sky, her hair perfectly braided, her eyes standing out against the blues of her clothes and catching Emmeryn’s gaze almost immediately.

“Good morning, Your Grace.” Phila said, bowing once the door was fully open. “I hope this morning sees you feeling much better?” And then she smiled, and Emmeryn’s stomach fluttered despite the tea she’s had. If she were very lucky, her palms wouldn’t be too sweaty, and the ribbon would remain in pristine condition. 

“Good morning, Phila,” Emmeryn replied, smile a bit bigger than Phila’s, feeling light and fears falling away in the moment. For here Phila was, and she smiled in a way that made Emmeryn feel at home. There was nothing to be afraid of, in this moment. “Yes, thank you. The wonders a restful evening and a full night’s rest might work on one’s constitution.” A pause, as Emmeryn considered the way the yellow light hit Phila’s face, and her gaze lingered on the way it highlighted her cheekbones and made the knight’s eyes glow. 

“I hope that the night treated you kindly as well?” 

“Oh, yes, Your Grace.” Phila said, voice warm to Emmeryn’s ears. “And the winds this morning have been kind to those of us partial to early flights.” That would explain the rosy color of Phila’s face, and the pinkness to her ears. Emmeryn had seen more experienced knights come down from the skies red from windburn on even the mildest of days.

“If you would allow me,” Emmeryn said, after a moment more of pleasantries, “I thought I should give you a gift.” She lifted a hand to halt Phila’s instinctual denials. “If you would, I thought perhaps you would find use in this?” And out she held the ribbon, a stripe of silver across her fingers hanging out into the air below her hand. “I had hoped you might use it to tie up your hair? I have noticed that is a favored style of yours.” 

Phila reaches out to grab the ribbon hanging past the palm of Emmeryn’s hand, fingers closing over soft fabric, missing contact entirely. Appropriate, as Emmeryn has come to expect from her. She pulls back, as does Phila, but the speeds at which they do are so different, that the pads of Emmeryn’s fingers brush against the tops of Phila’s knuckles. Brief, unexpected,  _ electrifying _ . Emmeryn jerks her hand back all the way, Phila remains frozen. This time at least, Emmeryn knows what this feeling is.

If she can bring herself to look, Falcon will be gone. If she can bring herself to look…

She panics. Grabs Phila by the wrist, pulls her inside, and then closes the door. “Frederick,” she calls, voice shaking. “Frederick!” She stares at Phila, looks down at her own legs, covered by her long socks, and then starts aggressively pushing them down. Kicks off her shoes, stares at the skin exposed from knee to toes. No marks visible.

“Falcon,” she says only, frantically, as Frederick stands beside her, quiet. Phila, when Emmeryn looks up from her progress in stripping, looking for the mark that has replaced Falcon, has brought her knuckles to her lips, and looks so open and vulnerable that Emmeryn pauses, and stares. “Phila?” She asks, softly. 

Stepping over her discarded socks, heavy cloak still on her shoulders and in this moment a comfort, Emmeryn peers up at Phila through the knight’s own fingers. “Phila?” She asks again, toes digging into the rug under her bare feet. Phila looks to her exalt, past her fingertips, and the emotion in that gaze makes Emmeryn’s stomach flip. That’s something she never expected to see, for some reason, in all her daydreaming.

She can’t name the way Phila looks at her, but even Frederick, eighteen and heads taller than her, had not looked at her like that, when they’d exchanged marks. 

“Phila,” Emmeryn says, smile rending her inflection an upwards lilt. Slowly, holding Phila’s gaze and stomach fluttering nervously, Emmeryn reached for one of Phila’s hands. Halted, just a moment, when she brushed the skin of Phila’s fingers, and then teased the hand away from Phila’s face in order to twine their fingers. 

“Your Grace,” Phila offered, sounding, for once, much less calmly collected. She was smiling though, a bright smile peeking through now that half of her face was visible again. “My lady...Emmeryn?” 

Leaning up onto the balls of her feet and into Phila and clutching tightly to the hand in her grasp, Emmeryn nodded, “Yes, Emmeryn.” Phila supported Emmeryn, as she leaned more and more into her soulmate, and Emmeryn felt she could spend hours watching Phila smile. Phila was her Falcon. She could just scream, she was so delighted.

“My lady, Emmeryn.” Phila said, sounding just as dazedly delighted as Emmeryn felt. Finally, she pulled her other hand off her face, revealing just as bright a smile as Emmeryn’s own. She leaned her head down, so that their noses almost touched, and giggled softly. 

Frederick cleared his throat. “I hate to interrupt, Milady, Lady Phila, but.” And he gestured to the window, where the sun was rising. “I believe that all of us have appointments elsewhere, quite soon.” Scrambling, Emmeryn grabs her socks and shoes and presses a brief, bold kiss to Phila’s cheek and points fondly at Frederick before making an awkward run for her meeting. Phila and Frederick smile at each other, and then part ways for their own knights. 

Emmeryn finds a swan, neck arching gracefully as it hisses at the eagle flying past her elbow, much later, in between meetings. She pulls Phila to family dinner, and spends the entire affair with her elbows inelegantly planted on the table, finding each move the knight made entrancing. As the family slowly and contentedly wanders back to bedrooms, Emmeryn pulls Phila slightly aside. “Come to breakfast tomorrow?” She asks, uncertain of herself.

“Of course,” Phila answers, smiling again. 

At breakfast, years later, Chrom sits down, looking sheepish for being late. “Sorry, sorry. I know, I overslept.” Phila smiles at him, but otherwise continues loading Emmeryn’s plate up with fruit and buttering toast for the both of them. 

“It’s fine,” Emmeryn says, before turning to Phila and pushing her hands away. “I can pick breakfast for myself, stop hovering, Phila!” She says quietly, and Lissa snickers from her seat. “We just wanted to see you all this morning, Phila and I have good news.”

Phila immediately blurts out, “A baby!” and turns a besotted look at her wife and soulmate. Lissa jumps up, excited, and Frederick turns as pale as a sheet. Emmeryn pouts, and Phila kisses her fondly.

“You ruined the surprise,” Emmeryn says petulantly, but looks incredibly pleased with the attentive kisses she is receiving. 

“I was surprised,” Frederick mumbles, pouring himself a large glass of water. Then, fondly, he reaches out to touch Emmeryn’s elbow. “Congratulations, My Lady.”

“Yeah, Emm!! Congrats!” Lissa says, leaning on the table as she is practically half out of her seat. Chrom echoes her a heartbeat later, just as excited. 

Emmeryn fusses over Phila’s hair and Frederick’s tie, Chrom’s collar and Lissa’s bonnet, as they leave breakfast for their duties. Last one out of the room, Emmeryn rests a hand over her stomach thoughtfully, and then marches out to meet with her councilors. She has an heir on the way.


End file.
